


Spare A Soul, Why Won't Cha?

by pinklemonade123



Category: Naruto
Genre: ANBU - Freeform, ANBU OC, Dehumanization, Hatake Kakashi - Freeform, Hatake Kakashi Has Issues, Hatake Kakashi Is A Brat, Hatake Kakashi Is Trying, Hatake Kakashi is Precious, Hatake Kakashi is a Little Shit, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Itachi is Innocent, My First AO3 Post, My OC is my Baby, Older Bro Kakashi, Oops, Prequel to Naruto, Protective Uchiha Itachi, Root - Freeform, Sad Ending, Shimura Danzou - Freeform, Shimura Danzou Being an Asshole, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Uchiha Itachi - Freeform, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?, but also younger but like lets not get into it, can't you tell this is rushed?, inspired by 'gasoline' by halsey, inspired by a Halsey Song, no beta we die like men, prepare to be shocked, scary tings, that shisui thing is one sided, there, uchiha shisui - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinklemonade123/pseuds/pinklemonade123
Summary: Kakashi remembers a name...Itachi saves a life...Shisui lights up a soul...and Danzou Shimura kills another.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Original Male Character(s), Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Shisui
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Masks and Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Kakashi remembers a face he hasn't thought about in a while. Maybe it's a coincidence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kakashi remembers a face he hasn't thought about in a while. Maybe it's a coincidence.

Kakashi walks out of the Academy at a deceivingly slovenly pace, seemingly looking up at the clouds in an unaware daze. What he is actually doing is planning out his dinner in the stead of his father, who is out on a mission that he is sure would take more than two days. It is of no matter to him anymore because this is now commonplace. He didn't need help, anyways. Equipped with his signature gray mask and forever steely gray eyes, he finally decides that he should prepare a particularly well-liked combo meal of his: miso soup and broiled saury with salt.  
The idea sounds nice to him, anyways. A nice, hot broth is always good for the soul, and on days like these, where his father is gone, it... makes him feel better in the solace of the compound. Fish is good and always will be, especially when it's saury with salt. It's one of the recipes he prides himself on, too. Though, he'll never say that out loud. It is summertime in Konoha; the sun is radiating sweltering heat over its citizens in a manner that has most clamoring for the AC's in nearby establishments, making those that don't pay their price in sweat. Despite that, Kakashi sports his arm and leg warmers, something that gains the questioning looks of a few passersby. Other than that, Kakashi spots nothing interesting out of the side of his eye, where he spies on his surroundings.  
  
_"A good ninja never lets his guard down"_ says his father, from the depths of his head. It is something that he once said that has since ingrained itself deep into his soul. And so, he looks some more. There are some sparse trees in the park just a few meters away from him. The newer ones bask in the sun and leave those observing to wonder how they will look like in a few years while some of the older. ones shrivel a bit under the intense rays, their leaves a slightly darker color.  
  
A sudden, cool breeze leaves Kakashi internally thanking the weather while his newly found energy makes him survey his surroundings with a deeper focus. It’s not like there's going to be a major threat here in Konoha for him to see. In Kakashi's weak defense, you never know. Plus, there might be something that catches his eye, and he doesn't want to miss it. It is a stroke of good luck, desperation, and fate that proves his hopes to be true. Though, not in the way he expects.  
  
Kakashi catches a glimpse of what seems to be an ANBU. He looks, once, twice, and thinks about looking a third time before refraining in the name of sense. The reason he does this is because he knows, like all other shinobi that are worth their grain, that ANBU stay in the shadows. ANBU are not seen unless they want you to see them, and those times are few and in between. Even so, he catches the silhouette of the ANBU from within the shadows of the alleyway. Kakashi doesn’t know why, but he feels like the ANBU is begging him to come closer. Maybe it is the heat of the moment (no pun intended, as puns are never intended when it comes to Kakashi), but he obliges the hungry, curious part of him, and walks towards the alleyway.  
  
He struts at the same leisurely pace as before as to not attract attention. Whatever this was going to be, it was going to be private.  
  
The alleyway is dark, if not a bit grimy, as the path to the Hatake compound is near a borderline seedy part of Konoha. However, it is quiet as he steps inside. Now that he is closer to the ANBU, he can catch more of his features. He makes sure to get an eyeful so that he can put that information to use if he sees him again. Once again, it is not every day that you see an ANBU. With his excellent memorization skills, it is not difficult to engrain his appearance into his mind. The ANBU is taller than him by a head, and yet short enough to suggest that he was a child, like him. He was undoubtedly older, though. He because of how he is built and his lack of, well… curves. The boy is wearing gray chest armor over a sleeveless black turtleneck shirt that emphasized some of the musculature present on his shoulders. The reinforcing arm guards he wore were gray as well, put on top of long black gloves that he is sure have been marked by blood before. Lastly, he couldn’t help but notice his mask. It was that of a turtle. Possessing two horizontal teal stripes on the edge of both eyes, the mask hid his identity under a rather prominent nose made to resemble that of a turtle’s. With its likeness to a turtle came an ever-present frown, which didn’t quite fit the hollowness within the black eye holes that stared at him, almost inquisitively.  
  
None of them had said anything for a while before a raspy voice reached out to him.  
  
“Kakashi,” he rasped in the voice of an exceptionally bland child. Instant alarm that this figure knew him struck his heart quickly. It also strikes him that what he’s doing is not smart. He should have walked away. He should have went back home. Why does he know him? What has Kakashi done to him? Is he going to di- Kakashi pauses in his train of thought. No, he would not die. He just needs to listen. Listen. Listen to the ANBU. He’s Kakashi Hatake. He can handle this.  
  
“It’s been so long.” That sparks confusion, shock, and a faint hint of familiarity through his system. This man, boy, no, man. This man had caused so much to stir within him in the span of a few minutes. It simply wasn’t fair. But, he would listen some more. Who was he?  
  
“Who are you?” It seems that he acted out on his thoughts. Foolish of him, and yet, he wanted to know.  
  
“… I have to leave soon.” This ANBU seemed to have no knowledge of social cues. It was hypocritical of him to say so, seeing as he was the loner of his class, but he seemed to be worse off than him. But, no. He needed the answer to his questions. Kakashi’s mouth opened only to be interrupted by the ANBU’s actions. He closed his mouth and observed.  
  
The ANBU had taken off one of his gloves. There, his eyes had flickered up to a burn scar near the joint of his thumb. It was white, deeming the scar at least a few years old. But, it was specific in a way that he could not describe. Nostalgia poked at him like an answer right on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t his obligation to know the answer, he hadn’t been called up for it. Another older, stupider boy was answering and yet he needed to know the answer. He knew that scar. He had seen it before. His memory had failed him. This had been before the infallible machine called his memory had been created and sharpened. It was in his “stupid” stage, when he had played ninja with the other little boys and ambled around like only a toddler would. And so, he delved back into then, with only nostalgia and pure recognition of something, _something_ fueling his deep dive into his past.  
  
He had found it. He remembers the scar. _  
  
Springtime has just arrived in Konoha. The sakura flowers are proudly in bloom, boasting their bright, yet soft pink tones and raspberry red centers. Their petals are aflutter on top of the gusts of wind sailing through the village. It is on days like these that little children are often seen playing ninja and other such games with their friends, it is on days like these that the Konoha shinobi really get what they’re fighting for, it is on days like these that those in the darkness seem that much kinder in the soft light, and it is on days like these that bookworms feel their loneliest as they look out at the beautiful scenery outside. But, most importantly, it is on days like these that Kakashi is out with his dad. His dad is out some days, and yet he still makes room for him, and it is all that Kakashi needs.  
  
It fills Kakashi’s little heart when his dad teaches him new tricks and makes him learn new things and cooks for him and plays games with him. It makes the days without him seem much darker but the days with him seem much lighter. Kakashi feels like he’s holding his breath every time his father goes out. It’s simply not fair. Why can’t the shinobi get their own dad? Why do they need to steal his?  
  
He knows why. He simply denies it because he can afford to. He is young, the others say. He hears them and thinks to himself that if to be young is like this, then he doesn’t ever want to grow up. But, of course, that is a lie. He wants to grow up to be just like his father. People say he’s too young to decide and dad once said that it’s a dangerous job. But, I needed to be a man. I needed to grow up to be a ninja. Kakashi remembers what his dad said.  
  
He ruffled his hair and said, “You’ll need to work hard, but I believe in you Kakashi. You’re going to be great.”  
  
He remembers it in less of a blur than he does other memories. He thinks that it is because he cried right after, causing his father to panic about what to do with tears and crying and if he’s alright because if not, then-  
  
Anyways, today is a day for little boys to play with their otou-sans and kaa-sans and for little girls to be doing the same and for everyone, or at least most, to be enjoying life.  
  
…  
  
However, one little boy is a part of the population who is not having the best day and is not part of the “most” whom are. It is a little, freckled boy with features that are a blur in someone else’s mind except for his piercing, emerald green eyes, and his shaggy, mussed up hair.  
  
This little boy sits atop a see-saw that will never go up or go down because he can’t go up without friends, or a parent, or someone, just anyone, who will care enough for a ride. He sits atop the end of the see-saw, contemplating what got him there and looking up at the sky because, hey, at least that’s pretty- and it is. The sky is a bright, bright blue tinged by a yellow and pink hand reaching out to bring its dark blanket of stars from the other side of the earth over the heads of everybody in Konoha. The sky is there for him, and always be. It is ever changing but the hand of sunset hues greets him like an old friend. It is not his first-time cloud-watching, and it is not his first time on this see-saw, doing just that. It is getting late, and he knows this. But, it’s not too late. Maybe he can still make a friend.  
  
He has to go back to the farm soon, that he knows. But, he can still hold out. That’s what friends do after all. Maybe he can’t make a friend by tomorrow. But, he can try. He’ll hold out this time. It’s the least he can do.  
  
Two heads of silver-white hair emerge from the distance. There is a boy, smaller than him, sitting atop what seems to be his father’s shoulders. The little boy is wearing a mask. Hmm, must be training to be a ninja, the little boy thinks.  
  
The boy gets off of his father’s shoulders and it is the happiest day of his life. Perhaps this can be his friend for forever, and eternity, and, and-  
  
The little boy needs to ask the smaller boy. But he has practiced for this many times. The trees have been his practice for months and he thinks he is getting better and he knows that this is his chance and he’s going to miss it because he just can’t afford to. There are so many things he can’t afford to do and he needs this friend. He knows he needs someone. His other half of the see-saw is right there.  
  
So, in an act that changes history, a little boy with green eyes and a freckled face meets a silver-haired boy with a mask and asks him, “Will you be my friend?”  
  
The smaller boy sizes him up and down and says “Don’t you want my name first?”  
  
The boy almost facepalmed. Of course, he had messed it up. He was supposed to ask his name and then ask to be friends. How could he mess such a simple thing up? The trees were probably laughing out loud at his demise. Little did he know, they were. They remembered the clumsy, awkward attempts at making friends with the trees and remembered his confessions about his day to the ones closest to him. So, yes, they laughed. Some of them were smiling in mirth. Underneath all the laughter, they were happy and cheered in celebration. They knew what would happen. Nature foretold what would happen, as it was written within the very bark of their trees. The little boy, nonetheless, scrambled to respond, intent on not giving up to the bowels of the abyss of a mouth that is fear.  
  
His sweaty palms reached out in a gesture taught to him by his father. It was a handshake that reached out near the other person’s elbows. It was a clasp that would signify loyalty and friendship all in one. The smaller boy’s father’s eyes widened just a little before narrowing to scrutinize the hand offered to his son.  
  
Inside the mind of one Kakashi Hatake, his impeccable memory machine broke down for just a second. He used to hate remembering names. That, he remembers. And it makes him angry, just a bit.  
  
“Oh um, well, my name is …tsu..ta do..ito”, says the little boy. The blurry memory of someone else in the world distorts the moment in time. That, however, isn’t the name he remembers him by. It is a different one. There is one that’s more **important**.  
  
“… but you can call me nii-san,” says the older boy, and it startles the smaller one of the two. The smaller boy’s eyes increase in likeness to his father’s with how they widen. The gray of his iris seems to get bigger before settling down into something neutral. He has made his decision. Fate applauds him in the background, with her brothers and sisters surrounding her.  
  
“My name is Kakashi Hatake,” says the smaller boy, finally having been given a name. Kakashi’s eyes settle on his big brother and they stare at each other awkwardly before the older boy startles as if he remembers something he’s forgotten.  
  
“So… Will you be my friend?” The brunette is curious about his answer. He is pretty sure he has gained another friend, but one can never be too sure. The piercing green of his eyes interlock with those below him once again. This time, instead of it being awkward, it is a moment filled with an anticipation so intense that it has infected both sides.  
  
“Sure.” Kakashi shrugs as if he’s calm and cool and nonchalant. Though, nii-san’s green eyes can see through that and he thinks to himself in a childlike wonder that his eyes are so pretty. Truth is, he’s never had a friend before. His otou-san is nudging him towards the other boy in a silent declaration of approval. He sees nii-san direct his eyes towards his still-outstretched hand, slick with sweat but also covered in a promise of friendship and love and loyalty and all of those things in the stories Kakashi still, admittedly, reads. Kakashi takes the hint and clasps the upper forearm of his best friend and shakes it in a firm manner.  
  
The boy, nii-san, runs away in a hurry. But not before notifying his best friend of where to meet him tomorrow. He was a good friend like that.  
  
“I’ll be here tomorrow in the afternoon at 3:00! See you tomorrow, best friend!”  
  
The words placed a flush on Kakashi’s cheeks, chubby and flaming red from both youth and embarrassment. There was a smug smirk on his father’s face, almost as if he coordinated his whole thing. He didn’t, of course. He knew. There was still some apprehension left in his eyes from earlier for whatever reason. It was probably a ninja thing. He would get to an age in which he would get ninja things, he knew, one day. For today, though… for now, he was living young and had one best friend more than what he came in with.  
  
There was a look in Kakashi’s eyes that asked for permission to go after his friend, to go check on him one last time before he left. Sakumo nodded as any good father would, even if, as a jounin, as a ninja, he was worried. His son took the opportunity to sprint away from him and towards this new friend. And maybe it was Sakumo’s new father instincts, but he could tell they were going to be good friends. Though, what, pray tell, did fate have in store for them?  
  
And if on his sprint through the park, Kakashi noticed that his nii-san yelled at a man for littering and picked up his cigarette butt without knowing that it was still burning, then it was his nii-san’s fault for being such an idiot that Kakashi accompanied him in concern for his new friend. His nii-san was left with a scar. But he looked at him with those stupid best friend eyes and gave him a reassuring smile, saying that it didn’t matter anyways. He had to go, and he couldn’t help the dopey smile on his face as the words finally hit him.  
  
He waved goodbye and thought, **“best friend”**.  
_  
"You remembered yet? You always have that look in your eyes when concentrating." Kakashi is speechless. There are not enough words to describe how he feels and he feels like if he tried, a mush of gibberish would come out of his mouth, a thick slurry of words with the consistency of porridge. It sickens him to know who this is. The raspy voice from earlier has become stronger, steelier. It’s not unlike the tone that his father uses when being called for a mission. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s sometimes present that lets him know that his mission is especially hard. He can’t see his eyes, especially not in the shadows of the alleyway, but he can feel that same glint and he feels the eyes focus on him. Kakashi is speechless, but it is not because he doesn’t want to talk.  
"Even if you don't... I suggest you don't remember me." That statement shocks and angers Kakashi further. Was this really him?  
  
"Bad things will come to you if you do." It is amazing to Kakashi how fiercely he can still manipulate his emotions because there is something in his voice that is not quite reluctant, but speaks of a deep-seated fear. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, in the gray matter that makes up his brain, he stores that for later. For now, though, a pin drops in his stomach in a way that foretells something bigger to come. His emotions are infecting him like a virus. They alway have.  
  
Kakashi knew who he was now. He searched the eye holes of the ANBU’s mask for green eyes. They were emerald green, he remembers. He scrutinizes the stupid mask that he has worn. It takes so much of Kakashi to not ask questions that it is embarrassing. Now he knows the scrutiny behind his father’s gaze when they clasped hands. It is with a heavy heart that Kakashi remembers from class that it was an ANBU handshake, done between the sincerest of comrades. The costume was no joke. The mask was not fake. The eyeholes couldn’t let him see the eyes, and that infuriated him. There were no freckles. There was no shaggy hair. There was no sugary sweet, gummy smile. There was no nii-san left. At least, not visibly. His nindo calls out to him. His father reminds him what to live for…  
  
_**He would save his friends no matter what!**_  
  
  
  
And for the first time in his life, Kakashi strictly disobeys the rules.  



	2. Abysmal Nights of Sanma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kakashi has his favorite meal while the curtains open and the play starts. It's a tragedy.  
> AKA Kakashi fades away. But like the tides, he comes back.

Kakashi’s head was a whirlwind of thoughts, regrets, and hopes for the future. This decision would change his life, he was sure of it. The tone that nii-san used in his warning to him was very concerning. Had this been someone else, he would have paid attention. He would have expressed caution at the fearful undertone of the words and never disobey the rules, never step out of his comfort zone, and most importantly, never save a friend. It was an ANBU talking to him, after all. And ANBU’s didn’t come out of hiding for just anyone. But, with the revelation of the ANBU’s identity, another decision was cemented in history- the trees cackled once more- because this was his friend. You don’t just leave friends behind. At least, he thought so.  
  
Each step towards his home was like a trek towards another life. Back at home, he would have time to contemplate. He would have time to think, and most importantly, time to plan. Kakashi usually wasn’t much of a planner; not to say that he didn’t excel in it, because he _did_. However, tonight felt different. On his way towards the compound, as the sun slowly set over Konoha, he could feel the cold wind of night more thoroughly than he usually did. The trees looked more like spindly fingers than they did before. Night seemed more daunting than it would seem on every other day.  
  
His ninja senses could tell, with all of his being that something was wrong. Maybe he was just being paranoid, or the after effects of the impromptu meeting with nii-san had finally caught up with him, but something in his subconscious told him that neither of those was it. Kakashi fancied himself to be a person who noticed many things. So, as his eyes roved over his surroundings with the intensity of a cat seeking its prey, he notices… nothing.  
  
In his mind, Kakashi gives himself something akin to a smack on the head. Nothing was out of the ordinary. He was just being a disgrace of a ninja; too paranoid to even walk home. A huff escapes his lips as he resumes his stroll to the compound. He is relaxed, or at least his version of relaxed. His posture is straight, though not rigid. His chin is up, like his father taught him. His steps are leisurely like they were earlier. Everything is fine. Though, to his credit, Kakashi’s still wary of his surroundings. His ninja senses may have been wrong. However, it would not hurt to be suspicious. His pulse was slightly faster than it was before. He didn’t pay it any mind.  
  
An ANBU watched from the trees, internally pleased with the boy. He would be a good addition to Konoha’s ranks. Even so, he notes, he needed to look underneath the underneath. His eyes trace Kakashi’s form. Maybe if he had looked a little closer, Kakashi would have noticed that every shadow was off by 4 degrees, or that the sun was lower than it really was, or that the trees were shorter by 2 inches. The onlooker smirked beneath their mask: Any mistakes he made would not be paid any mind. This was going to be an easy job.  
  
At 5:01 PM, Kakashi slid open the door to the compound.  
  
Kakashi reenacted his daily routine after walking home. Nobody was inside the house, as expected. Only the sound of silence and the breeze outside accompanied him as he coped with the emptiness of his house until he filled the kitchen up with his favorite sound beside that of his dad’s laughter: the sound of cooking.  
  
Kakashi cracked open his book of “Everyday Recipes for Fish.” He flipped exactly 4 pages to where he knew the page with the broiled saury with salt was. He relished in the fact that despite everything, this was one of the things that has not changed and would never change. His schedule had been partially ruined, but he predicted that his favorite meal would surely make it up. With a practiced ease, he took out what he needed for the recipe, as well as the ingredients for miso soup. The warmth would make him feel better and ease his troubled mind. The flavors would prepare him for the next day. Three more days until his father came back, just three more days. Until then, the food was a comfort, simple as that. It being practically his only option was further emphasized by his lack of friends. Kakashi had plenty of acquaintances, yes. Nevertheless, besides someone he would rather not speak of out loud, the amount of his precious people that were not his relatives was at an all-time low. If he got any in the future, that was. He could not trust anyone, really. Besides him. And for the most part, Kakashi told himself that he liked it that way. The voice in the back of his head that said otherwise was ignored.  
  
Right now though, Kakashi hoped that for the rest of today he could eat his prospective meal and go to sleep after reading a nice book about katas and jutsu that would put him all the further in his education than his classmates. This day had exhausted him a multitude of ways. He would be glad to rest for once. He could bother with training tomorrow. A semblance of a chuckle escapes his mouth. He is quite certain that he would be pronounced mentally ill had he said that aloud and his classmates been around.  
  
The sky outside churns out fierce rumbles. The sky had long since changed even though it had felt like a brief period since he had entered the compound. A series of deep blues and faint grays comparable to the hue of his hair were sprinkled throughout the vast expanse of atmosphere. Even the trees from earlier had taken to swaying. A thunderstorm, huh. The pit pat of rain droplets on his window had confirmed it. Kakashi took a deep breath in through his mouth and a deep exhale through his nostrils. Kakashi was in his element now. He could do with rain. Heck, he could even say he enjoyed it.  
  
Worries drip dropped in the form of rain down the drain and Kakashi began his process. He would begin with the sanma. Kakashi washed his hands first, like any good chef. He then cut the fish in half diagonally and placed it on his trusty cutting board, where he inserted his knife into the side of its stomach. The guts were disposed of under the cold water of his sink with an ease that did not come to him in the beginning, where he would have to pause to gag every few seconds. It seemed that he had learned. The fish was wiped dry with a white paper towel. His eyes wandered to the sake cabinet. No use in meandering.  
  
Sake was sprinkled into a spare bowl with the sanma, where it was left for five minutes. Meanwhile, the oven was preheated to 200 degrees. The baking sheet was wrinkled, lined with aluminum foil, and sprayed with oil. There would be no sticking. The fish was wiped again. The salt was sprinkled on both sides of the sanma. His eyes hovered over the fish before he nodded a quick nod of satisfaction. Not too much and not too little. The salted fish was placed right onto the baking sheet and broiled. He set his internal alarm clock to seven minutes and got to work on the miso soup.  
  
In the medium saucepan he had put on top of the stove, Kakashi turned the burner control knob to a medium-high heat, combining dashi granules and water. Once at a boil, the heat was reduced to medium and the miso paste was whisked into the solution. Tofu from the little shop two blocks down the street was stirred in, adding the robust flavors the soup needed. It was artfully marinated in a way that he secretly wanted to learn one day from the cheeky old lady that owned the shop. He dug for a spoon and leaned in for a taste before pausing, remembering the rest of the recipe. Kakashi separated the layers of the green onions on his cutting board with a grace that made the comparison between his movements during calligraphy and cooking even more similar, adding them to the soup one by one. The soup simmered gently in its metal abode. Two minutes until ready.  
  
The ceiling was suddenly a remarkably interesting place for his mind to dwell as he waited. A deep inhale. A deep exhale. The tap of his foot marked each second gone by and it was suffice to say that Kakashi’s mind was like a clock with how gears were shifting and the tick-tick-tick of his thoughts went at a fact and unrelenting pace. His gaze came back down to what was in front of him. He was looking but not taking in the details, his vision blurred and unfocused. Pondering and analyzing the past was all he could do now.  
  
In a state that was not quite sensory deprivation, Kakashi did not notice a small creak resound throughout the kitchen. Nor did he notice the sanma slither a bit in the oven as if it were alive. Nor the miso that bubbled up as if it were on the highest of boils and slither out of the pot with a consistency that was not-soup. It was just Kakashi and his mind for a second. That second turned into a minute and that minute turned into two. Finally, he blinked and awoke.  
  
Not a second after, he tensed up as if rigor mortis had claimed him, mistaking his state for a dead man’s. Really, fear had claimed him as its slave with his instincts as the slave traders from a book he read about the ages before. Kakashi’s breath quickened, eyes widened, and his mouth had gone dry. Fear had paralyzed him and for just a moment, he did not know why.  
  
Darkness flooded Kakashi’s vision. The shadows suffocated him and the mask on his mouth and nose seemed harder to breathe in by tenfold. He was drowning. Drowning, drowning, and panicking because _what else could he do?_ His chakra pushed and pushed against the oppressive forces in his house. He could tell someone was there even though the seals around the perimeter of the compound had not been compromised. This was just some horrible jutsu. He struggled against the invisible grip that held him like a Nara’s shadow. But it clung to him. It clung to him with a professional grip and Kakashi was scared. He was also so tired. Kakashi did what he promised himself he would never do: he slumped, admitting defeat to the enemy.  
  
Fractals sprayed across his vision like a hallucination, or mayhap a genjutsu. A curious thought, it was, flitting through Kakashi’s mind, never to be seen again until later in his life. The grip loosened. Kakashi fell to the floor, belatedly taking out his kunai. He could not even hold it correctly, his shaking and trembling distorting his hold of the item. The darkness took up spots in his sight. Kakashi, son of the white Fang, would bear through it.  
  
The miraculous thing was that he did. Kakashi was fully released from the darkness only a few seconds after it had plagued him, the only evidence of being a panting, terror-stricken Kakashi. His surroundings spun nauseatingly as he tried- he really had tried- to get a grip. It was like his eyeballs were rotating inside of their sockets, rearing to jump out and run away with only a “whoom” sound left behind. A flash of pain on his finger had made him jump. It was his kunai. He nicked himself. Kakashi desperately told himself that all he needed was deep breaths. The self-help books in the library had made sure to emphasize the importance of those. However, try and try as he might, Kakashi could not get himself to stop jittering. Mentally, Kakashi flipped past page after page to find the panacea that would get him back to his normal self- that would cure him of _this_. His tear ducts were welling up with water. It took all Kakashi’s might to force them back in or, at the very least, to not fall. Shinobi do not cry. Nor do they jitter or release shuddering breaths every second that goes by or give up when faced with a strong enemy or cry out for help from their father. Well, he had not gotten to that last stage, but he was close. He was adjacent to it and that was worrying.  
  
It then struck Kakashi that every time he had heard about deep breaths in the little disgraceful books at the library was after the author had told the reader to find a safe space or reassured them that they were okay. Unlike how close he was to crying out for his dad like a little baby, Kakashi felt the farthest from okay, let alone _safe_. Even then, Kakashi needed something to reassure him and take his focus off his semi-traumatic experience. Maybe then his plight would appear all the less frightening than it was in the heat of his ironically spine-chilling moment.  
  
It was within the midst of this jumble of time that Kakashi felt a weight in his pocket that he had ignored earlier. It now weighed on his mind like a ton of bricks or the gargantuan wolves present in the drawings deeper in the Hatake compound. From what he felt, it was a cylindrical little thing reminiscent in shape of the tiny scrolls that he had occasionally seen in the hands of shinobi around the village. A quick scooping motion revealed his observations correct. The scroll was stout in his hands, a dull emerald green on the outside with the four ominous blood red kanji for “release” labeling it. Kakashi’s breath quickened once again. Maybe this scroll was irrelevant. Maybe he should throw it away. Maybe he should not open it. Maybe he should just go to sleep like he planned. This was so reckless and curiosity had killed the cat, after all-  
  
But was that not where it all went wrong? Because Kakashi was not a cat. Kakashi was not a hound. He was a wolf, and if there was anything that wolves did well, it was surviving. Kakashi Hatake was no cat and because of that he was free to be curious. He would do this. Kakashi inhaled and exhaled again-because he would put whatever he needed into preparing for this deed- and opened the scroll.  
  
Kakashi expected a blinding light, an ear-piercing shriek, or a feeling of instant regret. He was ready and overall felt prepared for the worst to come out of that scroll.  
  
Instead, he got none of those. It was kind of underwhelming if he were to be completely honest with himself. Kakashi eyed the scroll warily for a full ten seconds before doing his best to dive right into its contents.  
  
It was a scroll filled with complicated markings and he could understand absolutely none of them. He scoured the plane of the scroll to find something like what he had read about in his books focused on sealing- it _did not_ help that his knowledge on scrolls was already scarce. He trailed down the length of the paper on and on and on until…  
  
Kakashi’s “key to cracking the metaphorical code that is this scroll” was extremely obvious. Laughably so. At the bottom of the page had been a note from a familiar of the owner of the scroll. In red ink, it blended in with the rest of the scroll and yet still managed to degrade his ninja skills and lower his ego just by looking at it. The red on the note was just a shade brighter than the ink on the rest of the scroll and told him the story of a kind comrade giving a scroll to a fellow ninja. It was very formal.  
  
It had read  
  
“Thank you for the poisons. I owed you from our bet, so I took it upon myself to get you this. You always get targeted by genjutsu users so here is a one-time save. Do not count on another gift. Do good on your next mission.”  
  
The note was awfully quaint, which for Kakashi, had only served to emphasize the purpose of the scroll. This scroll broke genjutsu and he had been protected from whatever horrors lied in that moment of weakness. He knew who did this. Who gave him this scroll and saved him from an undesirable fate. It was the same person it would always be when it came to things like these on days like this one.  
  
_“Nii-san”_  
  
It still hurt to say his name. It was a deep-seated ache within his bones. This day just went on and on and he was tired and he needed some food because his stomach was rumbling like a mountain that decided to move and his tongue was so dry because he really should not have wasted so much energy panicking and-  
  
Oh, yes, that was right, food. The food he had cooked. He had forgotten completely amidst his emotions in what he labeled “The Moment” (because he simply could not bear to think about it). The internal timer had not gone off and his better-than-average nose took a whiff of smoke coming from inside his oven. The soup had most definitely overcooked if the saury had burnt.  
  
Kakashi sighed. He could not remake it. He was too drained to even walk to the table. He grabbed a clean plate from a nearby cabinet and sat down, grabbing his slightly charred saury despite how it burned him so and placing it there. It looked up at him with its blank eyes. Mechanical movements and quick swallows were how he finished it. The miso next.  
  
Kakashi stood up momentarily, putting his finished plate on the counter and grabbing a bowl that he was unsure was clean or not. He shrugged and poured the meagre amounts of soup inside of it. Most of it had boiled away, not to his surprise. Mechanical motions and in a few seconds, the soup was gone. The food had tasted horrible. Perhaps some of the worst food he’d ever tasted. Yet, it was not because of the flavor. His mistakes were enough to reduce the quality of his favorite meal, yes. However, what made it so revolting was knowing that someone was out there, making attempts on his life. Kakashi had no time for food, especially when it may have well been poisoned. It was like serving up meat to someone who had accidentally killed a man. The emotions and memories made it so that the appeal was not there. For the first time in his life, Kakashi hated saury and miso and all foods to do with them. His attempt at a perfect bite was rescheduled for next week. Hands were washed. Dishes were placed in the sink. Kakashi retired to his bedroom.  
  
There, he came to three realizations.  
  
One, he would not go to sleep. Kakashi contemplated going to sleep once he reached the confines of his room but the paranoia within him rejected any notion of laying down, staying vulnerable. He was prey. That was the reality. And nowhere was safe, not even his own bed. He would stay here and hope that maybe, just maybe, they would not take him. Not without a fight. Like a true shinobi. He would not be a coward like before.  
  
Two, he needed to gain more information about the arts of sealing and genjutsu. A true ninja does not lack knowledge that could potentially save them. A true ninja adapts to their enemy and strikes. Kakashi was certain he needed a new genjutsu-breaking scroll. At least, until he had an infallible defense against it. Where to find another scroll is what Kakashi will try to find out.  
  
Three, he owes nii-san big time. He chose right, and this friend is more than worthy of his nindo. He shall save him, one day. Just maybe not now.  
  
So, Kakashi spends until the next morning in the corner of his room, kunai in his grip and determination in his graphite-silver eyes.  
  
And if an ANBU stuffs fresh money in his pocket after his mission from that night was completed, then it’s really none of his business.  
  
If Shimura Danzou nods solemnly in satisfaction within his tunnels and catacombs of Konoha, pleased at another job well done for the sake of Konoha, then is that not normal?  
  
If a ROOT mutters under his breath, praying the scroll works and that an ocean of memories he worked so hard to uncover did not fade away, then is that not a common occurrence?  
  
If another ANBU misses some important information to report to a higher up because he averted his eyes, then is it really his fault?  
  
If Kakashi got caught in a web of lies, then tell me, was that not just Konoha?  



End file.
